


When You Walk in a Dream but You Know You're Not Dreaming

by lilleeboi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yokai, Attempt at Humor, Autistic Ushijima Wakatoshi, Bathing/Washing, Body Horror, Diners, Falling In Love, First Dates, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Horror Elements, Implied Neurodivergence, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mentions of Blood, Road Trips, Ushijima Wakatoshi is Bad at Feelings, Ushijima is a whiz with the baking soda, but no actual violence, just a little bit, spooky!Tendou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26087383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilleeboi/pseuds/lilleeboi
Summary: Ushijima couldn’t say that he particularly enjoyed the feeling of Kageyama’s cheek smooshed against his shoulder like a pillow, or the wet patch of dribble on his sweater from the sleeping setter’s mouth. The road was far too bumpy and far too steep, and that was quite enough unpleasantry without Kageyama’s poor choice of pillow.Now that he thought about it, Ushijima felt certain that at least one of his teammates had assured him that the drive would be fun.It was not fun.His first-ever road trip was turning out to be one of the most onerous events of his adult life.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 83
Collections: Ushiten Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For UshiTen Fan Week 2020, Days 1 & 5, but I was very liberal with my interpretation of the prompts :)
> 
> Title is from Dean Martin's "[That's Amore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aFSv-tq5GAY)."

It was an odd choice, for sure. Not many professional volleyball players would be able to say that they had gone on a team road trip to the top of a snow-capped mountain.

And yet… there they were. 

They were crammed into Heiwajima’s minivan, which, despite the initial thrill for _some_ of them, had grown trite _hours_ ago. Even Hoshiumi had stopped his ridiculous, insufferable singing, excitement clearly dampened. Only Nicolas seemed to be unaffected, and Nicolas’ mood was notoriously difficult to sour.

Ushijima couldn’t say that he particularly enjoyed the feeling of Kageyama’s cheek smooshed against his shoulder like a pillow, or the wet patch of dribble on his sweater from the sleeping setter’s mouth. The road was far too bumpy and far too steep, and that was quite enough unpleasantry _without_ Kageyama’s poor choice of pillow. 

Now that he thought about it, Ushijima felt certain that at least _one_ of his teammates had assured him that the drive would be fun.

It was not fun.

His first-ever road trip was turning out to be one of the most onerous events of his adult life.

When they finally stopped driving, it was late — later than Ushijima generally preferred to be awake — and tired passengers fell out of the vehicle like bears chasing honey, moving faster than it looked like they should and desperate for the prize.

The prize, which was likely an underkept onsen and a shared room for all of them. Yes, Ushijima liked to keep low expectations. He thought that was a good way to be.

However, Ushijima felt especially unlucky in this moment, still waiting for his drowsy seat-neighbour to crawl out from the back seat of the van before he could so much as scoot himself into a position other than one he’d been stuck in for upward of three hours since their last bathroom break.

He was generally a polite and stolid man, but Ushijima found himself struggling not to bark at Kageyama to _hurry up_. It wasn’t until he _finally_ stepped out of the minivan — which felt far longer than it truly was — that his internal struggle ended. And, God, the relief of standing was so much sweeter than he could have ever imagined only yesterday.

Ushijima drew cold air into his lungs, chest swelling up with the haul of his breath. 

Among the hoots and hollers of satisfaction from his teammates was an exasperated sigh from Heiwajima — chosen to drive not because he was good at it, but because he was the only one with a vehicle big enough for all of them. “Everyone’s things are still in the trunk, guys. Let’s grab them and head inside.” He spoke in a stern manner that the team had dubbed his “dad voice.” It was the same quietly agitated tone used when he was trying not to snap at his young children’s tantrums. 

No one was arguing with that. The worst offenders hurried to grab their things first, but soon everyone had bag straps criss-crossed over their chests or duffle handles clutched in their fists.

Ushijima had to give credit where credit was due; the foyer of the inn, at least, was nicer than he had pictured. 

Captain Hirugami spoke to the owners in a low, strained voice — from belting along with Hoshiumi in the van, Ushijima was sure — and smiled appreciatively as the whole team was escorted, through the lantern-lit halls of the inn, to an empty room. 

“I’m afraid there’s no one else this far up the mountain,” said their hostess, a plump woman with grey hair and weary eyes. “My son is tending the dining area, so you can just find him down the hall if you get hungry and he’ll serve you leftovers from dinner.”

“Thank you,” Hirugami nodded in polite thanks.

The room was big enough for the Schweiden Adlers to lay out their things with ample space between them. Everyone was either too tired or too scared to speak and Ushijima was grateful for the relative silence as they set up their futons. 

It was Kageyama who broke the silence first. “I’m hungry,” he said.

Hoshiumi echoed the sentiment, and suddenly it seemed like everyone was starving, forming a line to the dining hall.

Ushijima did _not_ feel hungry; he felt _restless_. Just standing in the dining hall, which was more like a dining room, was making him feel antsy.

His discontent must have been visible on his face, because his captain turned to him and said, “You look pretty tired there, bud.”

“I suppose so,” he said, fiddling with his hands. “I’m not feeling hungry.”

“Maybe you should go lie down.”

The _last_ thing Ushijima wanted to do was rest. He had been resting _all day_. What he really needed was to move around, to stretch his legs, to run.

So, that’s exactly what he did.

“I’m going for a run,” he announced, and no one objected.

The ground outside was peppered with snow. Trees stretched into the sky, impossibly tall and tenuous. Needled branches were coated in an icy sheen and although the area was dimly-lit, what little light there was reflected on the frost, so the trees looked as if they were decorated with little stars.

Finally alone, Ushijima was freely able to take in the mountain’s beauty by moonlight.

It didn’t take long for him to choose his course: a path that led in one direction, preceded by a broad mouth.

Some parts of the trail were narrow, while some were wide, but it never twisted, remaining arrow-straight as far as he could see. This was good, he thought; no way for him to get lost even if the moon were to become obscured by branches. 

Some might have felt frightened in the shadows of an unfamiliar mountain forest, but Ushijima felt completely serene, glad to have some time alone. And how could he feel frightened when he was running? It was one of his favourite things, and he wasn’t embarrassed to admit that he found it almost addictive at times.

The ground was kinder here, in the woods; more forgiving than he was used to. The soft _thud_ of his sneakers on the dirt and soiled snow was more satisfying than the _thwack_ he felt more than heard when he ran on city pavement. 

He got caught up in the rhythm — _thud, thud, thud_ — and he began to breathe in sync with the sound of his footsteps — _puff, puff, puff_. 

He was _jolted_ out of his rhythm when... well, he wasn’t quite sure. _Something_ had brushed his back.

Reaching around to sweep _whatever it was_ away from his jacket, he was surprised to find absolutely nothing there. No matter how many times he checked, the result was the same.

_Perhaps it was a leaf_ , he thought. But he knew it wasn’t; none of these trees had any leaves. 

An eerie feeling crept over him, swallowing him with chills.

_You’re being ridiculous_ , he told himself. Ushijima was nothing if not pragmatic; he _would_ be rational about this. Very rationally, he picked up his feet to continue running.

The second time it happened, it was far more conspicuous. It felt like something strangely akin to a finger was stroking a short, heavy line down his back. 

Ushijima’s body constricted with a sudden, gripping fear of what the strange sensation could be. Seconds passed without that _something,_ whatever it was, ceasing its incessant pressure and he didn’t _dare_ move. 

His heart _lurched_. 

Slowly, he turned his head.

Nothing.

He turned the other way, twisting his torso in hopes of a clearer view. 

Nothing.

“Wakatoshi!” called a familiar voice, and Ushijima startled, letting out a little huff of surprise before sighing in relief. 

There was nothing objectively… scary… about any of this, but for some reason he still felt decidedly frightened, in a way he hadn’t since he was a child.

“Wakatoshi!” the voice — Kageyama, he thought — called again. Perhaps he had been gone longer than he thought; it wasn’t uncommon for him to lose track of time when he was running.

He raised his voice in answer before taking off in the direction of the voice, straight ahead on his path, leaving whatever _that_ was behind him. 

It didn’t occur to him until much later, when he couldn’t find the source of the voice no matter how far he ran, that there was no way that Kageyama could have made it ahead of him; his whole team was resting at the inn.

The eerie feeling from before crept over him once more.

He was _done._ He wrenched himself around, ready to retrace his steps. He was evidently overtired and a good night’s sleep was beginning to sound _very_ appealing, so he prepared himself to jog back to the inn. But, what he saw then was definitely not what he had expected to see. 

That was odd. Hadn’t the woman at the inn said they were the only ones up here?

It looked immensely out-of-place. 

His footprints had vanished, and in their place was an expanse of soft snow leading up to a building with flickering lights, spelling out the words OPEN 24 HOURS. 

It _looked_ like a regular diner, similar to the ones he had seen in California. It _looked_ like the kind of place with greasy, delicious food that he was too ashamed to admit that he liked.

He almost felt like laughing at himself. Surely, the fact that there was an unexpected diner on the mountain was less odd than the fact that it had appeared out of nowhere, the path completely changed.

Now, Ushijima was _not_ the most imaginative person. From his perspective, this meant there was only a slight chance that he was imagining this. However, this also meant that he had very little clue of what was expected of him in this moment. Perhaps, if he were a different man, he would think to himself, _I should not go inside,_ but he was not a different man. 

So, with very little knowledge of what he should do in this situation, Ushijima made his way to the front door of the establishment, heart hammering in his chest. Although it appeared to be glass, he could not see through it, nor could he see through any of the windows.

He had never seen _anything_ like this. Ushijima’s favourite read was the back of a box of cereal, (which he indulged in when he was feeling particularly frivolous — cereal, after all, was not as nutritious as some of his teammates seemed to think it was). He very rarely found enjoyment in fictional movies and books, and he didn’t see the point in purposely scaring oneself. It did not occur to him that, just maybe, he _should not go inside_ , even if he did feel... _uneasy_. 

His hand closed around the handle and he tugged it open gently. It didn’t creak or squeak or make any alarming noises; instead, it was unnaturally quiet.

Inside the diner was mostly empty. There were no servers behind the counter and the barstools remained un-sat-upon, their red pulled seats visibly cracked and worn. The black and white checkered floor wore a generous coat of grime, like no one had set foot on the tiles in… _a long time_ , Ushijima thought idly. He was nearly afraid to ruin it, perfectly untouched.

He would assume that there was no one around, if not for two things. One, the lambent flickering of lights inside — and outside, thinking back to the OPEN 24 HOURS sign. And two, the delectable _smell_.

His stomach panged. Perhaps he should not have skipped out on dinner.

That _smell_ — it was downright _ambrosial_. It smelled like food he had only ever experienced overseas, greasy and disgusting and delicious. He felt guilty just thinking about it.

His mouth watered. He _definitely_ should not have skipped out on dinner.

Hesitantly, Ushijima entered the diner. His sneakers made no sound on the checkerboard floor, dust cushioning his steps despite the melted frost on their soles. He let his nose lead him, only to find the smell was never stronger in one place over another. 

He ran a hand over the table nearest him. Once-shiny metal had lost its lustre, but the surface was still smooth beneath his fingers, in surprisingly good condition considering how old the place must have been.

He slid himself into the booth just as his stomach growled, loudly. If there were any other people around he might have felt embarrassed. 

Funnily enough, he didn’t _feel_ alone. 

So he wasn’t entirely surprised when someone said, “Hi!”

Ushijima looked up and found the room had suddenly changed while he wasn’t looking, as if life had been breathed into it. It was the same room, but it was packed with people. 

The source of the voice was a tall, gaunt man with a monkeyish posture. His hair, dark and red-tinted, was notably thick. It cascaded to the floor in tangles and covered most of his face; a thin sliver of his features was visible through the mats of hair. What little Ushijima could see, he found to be bizarrely... _pretty_. A wide, unsettlingly esurient eye with a beady red centre, a sallow cheek propped by prominent bone, an impish grin that looked about ready to split the man’s face in two (or maybe crack open to take a bite out of the poor volleyball player in front of him). 

It probably should have dawned on him sooner, but it was only at this moment that Ushijima truly understood an important truth: this was no ordinary diner.

“Hi,” the man said again. “Welcome to Satori’s, open twenty-four hours! What can I get you?”

Ushijima was lost for words. He parted his lips as if to speak, but no sound came out and, even if it had, it would not have been anything intelligible because he had no answer for the man.

“Oh, silly me!” The man smacked his forehead. “My name is Tendou and I’ll be your server tonight.” When his hand came away, Ushijima could see that it was stained with something sticky and red that, now that he noticed, was coating the man’s hair and causing it to appear nitid and damp.

Ushijima gulped, and gulped again when he could see Tendou’s eye tracking the movement of his throat.

“I’ll just go fetch a menu for you, Wakatoshi. Sit tight.” Of course Tendou knew his name. Of _course_.

_I must be dreaming_. That was the only possible explanation.

When Tendou turned around — to _fetch a menu_ , apparently — Ushijima allowed himself to look around the diner. It looked exactly the same as when he had first entered, but now with creatures filling the seats and chatting amongst each other. 

Yes, _creatures_ was an appropriate descriptor, he thought, for most of them looked far from human.

Most notable were the wide-eyed apes — which he recognized to be yōkai known as satōri — in gingham aprons, passing food to guests on tin trays. The guests themselves, all kinds of yōkai, he suspected, varied greatly. He could see plant-like sprites, snarling beetles, haggard old women, a shockingly civilized oni, and even things he could not possibly begin to describe.

“So, what are you doing here?” 

Ushijima jerked in his seat, startled by his server. “What do you mean?” he asked simply.

“Oh, y’know, you’re,” Tendou waved long, slender fingers as if conjuring his next words. “Human. Forgive my forthrightness.” He hardly sounded apologetic, rather as if he were sizing up a meal.

“I’m… not sure.”

“It’s a miracle you found this place, Wakatoshi. Humans rarely make it this far,” he said. Then he hummed thoughtfully, and somehow Ushijima understood that Tendou knew more than he was letting on. “Anyway, here’s your menu, Miracle Boy.” He slid it across the table before moving away to tend to other customers, who, Ushijima noticed, paid very close attention to Tendou, hungry eyes following him as he moved.

Ushijima hadn’t even opened his mouth to order when Tendou suddenly placed a hot tray in front of him. It was _exactly_ what he had been about to order.

“How—” he began to ask, but he was silenced by his server’s raucous laughter. _Oh, right, a dream_ , he remembered with chagrin.

“Oh, Wakatoshi, you’re so funny!” His voice was crooning, teasing the words apart with his tongue and assigning them a secret meaning. “Why don’t you pinch yourself to confirm that?” 

Well, it must be a dream if Tendou knew what he was thinking. Or, had he said that aloud?

“I can feel things in my dreams,” Ushijima responded. It was the truth, yet he pinched the flesh of his wrist between his thumb and index anyway.

He could feel it, obviously. And he could smell the food that was sitting in front of him, inviting and savoury. This was either the best or worst dream he’d ever had.

“You’re a bit dense, aren’t you?”

Ushijima had heard people say that about him before, but before he could respond, Tendou was laughing again, one hand coming up to hide what could be seen of his mouth. 

“It’s okay,” he giggled and slid into the booth across from Ushijima, one-eyed gaze predatory and concupiscent, but still teasing. “I like that in a man.” 

_Oh._ Perhaps this was... a different kind of dream than he had thought.

Tendou’s hair spilled onto the table, and Ushijima could see from this close that the sticky substance coating the strands was, undoubtedly, blood — as if it weren’t unpleasant enough already.

Ushijima wasn’t sure if he was disgusted by the man’s hair, or if he was disgusted with himself for finding Tendou attractive despite it.

While certainly true that it had been a while, to say the least, since Ushijima last partook in any… fleshly desires, he found all this to be a bit much. Especially considering his notoriously poor imagination.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Wakatoshi?”

How his mind came up with _this_ for him to dream, he had absolutely no idea.

He gingerly plucked a fry from its nest and brought it to his mouth. It tasted like nothing, and felt like soot on his tongue.

The corner of Tendou’s mouth turned down. “Do you not like it?” he asked.

Ushijima could not decide whether to lie or to admit his disappointment. He changed the subject instead. “You’re very beautiful,” he said, carefully. _How eloquent of me_ , he thought dryly.

However, this seemed to please Tendou greatly. His lips curled happily once more and he made an attempt to bat his lashes, which looked rather strange. “I’m _so_ glad you noticed, but didn’t you say something about this being a dream?”

He had a point. 

But Tendou’s grin grew even wider as he said, coyly, “Just kidding,” He tucked a swath of hair behind an ear, uncovering frustratingly little more of his face. 

Tendou seemed to be quite the mind-reader, so Ushijima assumed that he had the same powers as the mythical satōri, but he found it odd how Tendou’s appearance differed so starkly from that of the other servers.

Tendou seemed to find that funny; he was already laughing as he replied to Ushijima’s yet unspoken question, “Oh, no, I’m not like them. I’m just good at guessing.” His eye crinkled at the corner. “That’s why they let me stay here — and also because the customers love me.” 

“Oh,” said Ushijima, and his eyes dropped to the food in front of him as he felt slow heat rising in his cheeks. “I can see why,” He shifted his gaze up again.

Tendou looked utterly _delighted_. “You know,” he said. “You’re different than I expected, Wakatoshi.”

“You were expecting me?”

“Of course!” He stood suddenly, nails raking the metal table, and Ushijima could see a flash of legs before hair covered them again. “I’m the one who lured you here.”

The thought of being _lured_ was not an appealing one. 

“But I have to admit, I never expected you to last so long, Miracle Boy.” Tendou pouted his lip. “Although, you’re not that fun to tease when you think you’re dreaming.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Something glowed behind Tendou’s dark red iris. “You’re just my taste,” he chuckled softly, predatory. “Normally I would have eaten you by now, but I like your personality too much for that.”

Ushijima pensively watched as Tendou scooped up the tray of food and sauntered away, fingers fluttering in a cheeky wave. 

When Tendou returned, it was with drinks in hand.

“Beer?” Ushijima asked, a tad apprehensive.

“It’s just regular alcohol, don’t worry.” Tendou said, setting two cans on the table. “I’ve never had a human guest before, so I don’t really have anything else for you since the food….” he trailed off, unexpectedly sheepish.

“Oh,” Ushijima brought it to his lips and took a hesitant sip. _It really is normal._ “Thank you.”

Tendou, much to Ushijima’s surprise — and dismay — plopped himself down right next to him in the booth, his bare leg pressed to Ushijima’s own (although _he_ was appropriately dressed for the weather outside). He was _so close_ and his hair, so thick it was almost roiling, clung to every surface it touched.

It felt so _real._

He should not have been aroused. And Ushijima thought, _what a peculiar dream_ , mostly to appease the part of himself that was actively panicking. 

With every muscle clenched, determined to stay absolutely still, Ushijima watched in silent fascination as Tendou took the other drink for himself and swallowed it in a single gulp.

“Ahhh,” Tendou gave a satisfied sigh. “That’s the stuff!”

Ushijima forced himself to take another sip of his own beer.

“Relax, Wakatoshi!”

A long, bony hand squeezed his thigh and he sucked in a breath as a chill shot up his spine. He couldn’t say he particularly enjoyed the sensation, but it would be a lie to say he completely abhorred it. 

“You don’t have to feel embarrassed,” Tendou purred, close enough that Ushijima’s neck was warmed by breath. 

Ushijima felt that embarrassment was a reasonable response to his current situation: sitting in a yōkai diner, half-chub from his attraction to this clump of ill-kept hair, and still very conflicted on whether it was all a dream or not! 

Ushijima set down his drink and brought his hands up to his face. He could feel himself blushing and was loath to have Tendou see him in such a state of discomposure. “You are very beautiful,” he said, for the second time that night. “But it would be… irresponsible of me to… pursue… you.” His voice was muffled by the palms of his hands.

A pause.

“You’re free to leave whenever you like,” Tendou said. He patted Ushijima’s leg once more before pulling away. “But,” he added, disappointedly. “I really do like you; you’re interesting. I’d like to see you again, Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima mulled over his response carefully. The prospect of meeting Tendou again was terrifying and yet, the mere thought caused something to stir within the warmth of his core. “I…” _Would like that too? Should be on my way?_ _Hardly think that’s appropriate given the—_ “Live in Tokyo. If that’s not a problem for you then perhaps we could meet again.”

Tendou stood. “Let me give you something to remember me by.” He reached into the pocket of his apron skirt and pulled out a worn-looking hand cloth. It seemed similar to the vintage tenugui Ushijima’s mother kept on the kitchen wall, but this one looked much older and very well-loved, its edges beginning to fray and the pattern nearly completely faded from use. “I have a feeling we’ll meet again,” he said, holding out his offering.

Ushijima accepted the cloth and bowed his head in thanks as he reached into his pocket in search for his— 

“Oh, don’t worry about paying,” Tendou’s fingers gripped the edge of the table, as if he were trying to prevent himself from falling over in his fit of laughter. “It’s on the house.”

They made their way closer to the door, but no other patrons or staff paid them any mind.

“Thank you,” Ushijima said, feeling culpable despite his lack of money — his wallet was back at the inn, buried with his clothes and other belongings in a duffel bag. (How could he have known he would be needing it?) “That’s very kind of you.”

“Goodnight, Wakatoshi.”

“Goodnight, Tendou-san.” 

He thought he felt the brush of a finger along his back as he exited the diner, but when he turned to see if the man had bid him goodbye with such a gesture, there was nothing there. 

Ushijima stood, agazed, at the trail of footprints stretching ahead of him in the snow, their outlines glinting in the moonlight. Perhaps it was his mind making false connections, but the landscape seemed almost magical. The trees, coniferous and reaching to the heavens, bending to the will of the wind, were dusted with specular flakes that appeared as if they were stars. 

Those same flakes that fell from the sky, kissing his skin with pinpricks of cold. 

He didn’t have any memory of following the path back to the inn, but he surely must have, for he awoke the next morning on what felt like a futon under his back and what smelled like Kageyama’s feet next to his head. 

Ushijima opened his eyes.

A weak stream of sunlight beamed across the floor, allowed in only through a fraction of glass left uncovered by its curtain. Several Schweiden Adlers snored in symphony, completely incognizant to the morning’s hustle and bustle outside their room.

Kageyama stirred softly in his sleep, rubbing his feet together in a motion of soothing himself. As Ushijima sat up, he could see his teammate’s drool-stained chin and cheek, a pool already drying on his pillow.

“Tobio,” Ushijima placed a gentle hand atop the slope of Kageyama’s spine. “Tobio….”

“ _Mmm_?” Kageyama’s eyes fluttered in a state of half-wakefulness. 

“Tobio.”

“ _Shou…_ ” his eyes finally opened, bleary and unfocused, and he sat upright. His hair stuck up in every direction, mussed from sleep. “What time is it?”

“I am unsure, but you should soda your shoes before breakfast.”

“Oh, Wakatoshi-san. My… _shoes_ , yes. Why?”

“Your feet smell.”

“ _Oh,_ ” he mumbled. He sank back down into his futon. “They’re by my bag,” He pointed as if showing the way, but his arm stuck straight up, index finger loosely gesturing to the ceiling. 

Well, no matter; Ushijima supposed he could take care of it for him. He couldn’t help the exhale of fond amusement at his younger teammate’s foolish actions as he searched for said teammate’s shoes.

He wondered if Tendou would be so lax in the mornings, coltish and unchaste, crust at the corners of his mouth, or if he would be lissom and exquisite, lithe body slack and serene to the whims of sleep.

_Tendou_. The memories of last night came flooding back. 

He felt silly for wondering about such frivolities when he didn’t even know— 

Ushijima stilled, his hands buried deep in Kageyama’s bag. Suddenly, sodium bicarbonate seemed of such little importance. The only thoughts rolling through his mind were questions: would he be able to see that mysterious man again? _Was it even real?_

Surely, asking such questions was futile. 

He pursed his lips, forcing those thoughts out of his head as he continued his search. His diligence was rewarded only with his fingers closing around the cylindrical container he had been in search of. He tipped its contents into Kageyema’s shoes, carefully, one after the other. 

Slowly, the room around him began to stir, snores ebbing into wakeful breaths. Chatter began to fill the space, worming its way into every crack and crevice in the wood. A pair of arms slung around Ushijima’s shoulders where he was kneeling by the wall.

“What are you doing?” Hoshiumi asked, much too boisterous considering how close he was to Ushijima’s ear.

“I’m putting baking soda in Tobio’s shoes,” Ushijima said, noticing in his peripheral vision the way Hoshiumi’s nose wrinkled.

“He can do that himself, ya know.”

“I know,” Ushijima replied simply, and let his teammate’s warmth sink into him; he hadn’t realized before how _cold_ it was.

“Hey,” Hoshiumi’s voice was, once again, much too loud and abrasive. “You smell _really_ good today.”

_Hm?_ “What do I smell like?”

“I dunno, it’s like….”

“French fry juice,” Kageyama supplied, bending down to sniff Ushijima’s head. “You didn’t have to do my shoes for me. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not a problem,” Ushijima stood, causing his two teammates to fall away. “Hopefully your feet won’t wake anyone tomorrow morning. But you should also remember to change your socks.”

Kageyama nodded solemnly, sheepishly.

Ushijima paid little attention at breakfast — reheated, as they’d overslept — as Heiwajima and Hirugami went over the day’s driving plan. He didn’t much care for the logistics of this asinine trip and the mere thought of spending another day in the libero’s minivan was making him claustrophobic. 

He couldn’t even remember the reasoning behind their destination of choice. 

As they loaded themselves into the vehicle, Ushijima allowed himself to close his eyes — if only for a moment — and think back to last night’s curious dream. Perhaps it would be melodramatic to claim he were grieving Tendou’s absence from the real world, and perhaps it was vacuous to linger on his unclean thoughts about an imaginary man, but he truly felt so wistful.

The trees outside, which had once looked so enchanting, were blurs of blue and green through the back window of the minivan, anchored to the mountain by spindly trunks. 

They drove, and drove, and drove, the mountain landscape rippling by, but never changing quite enough to be noticed. The cacophonous singing and talking accompanied their travel once again, too loud to ever truly fade into background noise.

They stopped once for a “bathroom break,” which was really Nicolas being too carsick (and possibly hungover; Ushijima wasn’t sure) for them to safely continue. A nauseous passenger was too much of a liability, according to their driver who, reasonably, did not want to deal with the aftermath of disgorgement in his family’s minivan. Nicolas remained chipper as ever.

Ushijima felt certain that at _least_ one of his teammates had assured him that the drive would be _fun_ , and yet this road trip was, so far, nothing short of disappointing. 

And that was being generous.

Sincerely, Ushijima loved his team. But there is a certain, undeniable truth that the more one loves someone, the more nettled one becomes upon being forced into a car with them for hours at a time. Ushijima was experiencing this truth with about as much inclination as a chicken playing chess.

The top — or close to the top, Ushijima supposed — of the mountain had noticeably more tourists compared to the sparse population near the last inn. Of course, the denizens of the mountain’s crown were fewer in number than those at the base of the mountain, but it was still obvious from the activity and signage around the area that it was a tourist destination.

The snowfall here was sharper, not flakes so much as shards of ice being hurled at the ground, hitting roofs in percussive cadence. Ushijima felt glad for the shelter of the minivan; this snow sounded like it would _hurt_.

The dirt road grew narrower and winding, and beneath the sound of snow thundering on the roof Ushijima could hear the squealing of mud under tires as they turned up the mountain.

If he thought the road was bumpy _yesterday_ , Ushijima wasn’t sure what to call it today. The upside, he supposed, was that they were brutishly jostled so often and so pitilessly that Kageyama’s untoward dozing habits were interrupted — the setter seemed to have given up on a nap at this point, thankfully.

When they finally stopped driving, it was late afternoon and the sleet had ceased its assault; instead, when the team stepped out of the van and into the castellated inn’s small parking lot, they were embraced by cold mist. 

The first thing Ushijima noticed was that _this_ inn was much larger and much nicer to look at, aureate, at least from the outside. 

The inside proved to be much the same; traditional, but refurbished. Damascened decor was visible in every direction and kintsugi pottery carefully framed the front desk. 

The decorator _clearly_ wanted to make a good first impression on the guests.

“It’s like a castle!” Hoshiumi exclaimed.

But while the rest of his team was appreciating the elegant indoors, Ushijima’s mind was somewhere else entirely: _Tendou_. The yōkai had somehow settled himself snugly in Ushijima’s brain, consistently pushing all rational thoughts aside in favour of lechery — something Ushijima had often wished he could remain oblivious to.

_Tendou;_ a man with a lilting voice and a demeanor which suggested he was both puckish and prurient, a man who could — and did, in fact — occupy Ushijima’s thoughts for far longer than anything, any _one_ , probably should.

Mercifully, he still had the wherewithal to move his limbs in the direction of the pack, following his teammates through a gilded doorway and down a stately main corridor. 

It was a group decision to spend the rest of the afternoon in the onsen, but when Ushijima raised his hand to vote with everyone else, he hadn’t been paying attention well enough to know what he was signing up for.

_Perhaps I’ve been cursed_ , he thought. 

The spring was comfortably hot and as Ushijima submerged himself, he could feel his skin being swallowed by water. His teammates’ relaxed banter melted into muffled blobs of sound above him, as if he were separated from the rest of the world by a bubble.

It was a lonely feeling, but not an unpleasant one. 

Almost as soon as he resurfaced into the din of the onsen, steam swirling around him like cloud ribbons, he felt words being pulled from his mouth. It was as if his tongue was moving by some external force, something that knew what he wanted to say before he knew his own desire.

“I’m going for a run,” he announced, and no one objected.

Don’t be fooled; it wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy the onsen. It was merely that he would rather be elsewhere — moving around — than pruning with his team, he realized, whose juvenility was barely quelled by the calming water.

For every _thud_ of his steps, little beads flung from his wet hair, freezing as they left the bounds of his body warmth with every up-and-down motion. The toes of his shoes were soggy from plunging into snow and ice, browned from mud and slush. He could feel it seeping into his socks, but he kept going — _thud, thud, thud_.

Ushijima was glad to be away from his team, but he was no less lonely than he had been back at the onsen in his self-made bubble. 

_Thud, thud, thud._

Generally speaking, Ushijima was not the most imaginative person, but running seemed the perfect time to indulge in his newfound fondness of daydreaming.

_Thud, thud, thud._

Perhaps it was because he was lonely, or perhaps it was because the man was already occupying a great deal of his mind; either way, Ushijima found himself wondering — _wishing_ — that he might, quite literally, run into Tendou again, a part of him holding onto that small hope that it had not been a dream after all.

He pictured Tendou, in the gingham dress and apron that, if not for his unseemly locks, would leave little to the imagination, sprawled across the diner booth, red to match his eyes and stain of his hair. His fingers pulling through the strands in a luxurious show of seduction as he burbled sleepy, sweet flirtations. Ushijima could see Tendou as a sybarite, basking in the pleasure of— 

_Thud, thud, thud._

He panted with each vibration sent through his body, thoughts half-caught between the satisfying _thud_ on soft ground and a shamefully licentious fantasy, until he became _convinced_ that it had been a dream and there was no point to wearing himself down with a three-hour run.

If he were a different man, perhaps he would find himself playing through his fantasy over and over again, but he was not a different man and he felt guilty enough having thought it up in the first place, thank you very much. Mostly, he felt mortified for even considering that he might find the diner.

He forced himself to think of other things, and by the time he had reunited with the other Adlers, he had been relatively successful.

“Wakatoshi!” Hirugami waved in his direction.

Ushijima smiled briefly as he strode toward his team, who had formed a train behind their captain.

“You’re just in time!” Nicolas poked his head out of line and grinned. “We’re about to grab a bite to eat.”

Ushijima nodded, tucking himself next to Kageyama as they played follow-the-leader.

Kageyama turned his head slightly to mutter out of the side of his mouth, “We’re getting yakitori, but it was a close vote.”

That night, with his belly full and his head comfortably cushioned, he closed his eyes to sleep with a simple wish. 

_I hope I dream of him again tonight._

“Wakatoshi-san!”

He awoke with a start. Sunlight washed over him, shadows from the snowflakes outside creating a pattern across the floor, and he squinted. “I’m awake.”

The rest of the team was already up, milling about the room and getting ready for the day.

Hoshiumi snorted. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been so doting on Kageyama and his stinky feet; the smell might have woken you up much earlier!”

Ushijima furrowed his brow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d overslept. 

“Actually, are you okay? You seem a little… _off_.”

Suddenly, several pairs of eyes were on him, moving with the agreeing nods of their owners.

“I’m fine,” Ushijima assured them.

And yet, Ushijima was clearly not. He felt quite decidedly _not fine_ , actually. He was being drawn to some imagined apparition like a moth to flame, and he was beginning to fear he was in danger of being burned by his own lack of better judgment.

Disappointment dragged at him, beyond all rational thought, at the realization that he hadn’t been able to dream of the diner or Tendou again, nor had he dreamed at all.

“We were gonna play around with the ball for a bit before the festival starts, if you wanna join us,” Heiwajima offered.

Oh, right. _Festival._ That’s why they were here in the first place; he had forgotten.

“Volleyball?”

Heiwajima hummed and the rest of the team grinned, all so clearly pleased at the thought of getting their fix. Ushijima liked the sound of that — letting himself become one with the ball. _Finally_ ; maybe volleyball would be able to keep him in the real world.

But while that was considerably successful, by the time they were eating greasy street food and marvelling at the dancers in finely adorned costumes, Ushijima was right back where he started.

Or, his thoughts had shifted very little.

He felt… morose, he supposed. A dramatic description perhaps, but accurate all the same. It was exceedingly difficult to enjoy himself when he was preoccupied with mental images of the yōkai from his dream, no less revolting than he had been that night, yet somehow ever more beautiful each time Ushijima pictured him. 

Perhaps it was for the best. Surely, getting himself involved with a _real_ yōkai — who had claimed to _lure him_ to _eat him_ , Ushijima reminded himself — would be… well, _disastrous_ at best.

When for the second night in a row, Ushijima had no dreams, he found himself thinking of the man less and less. As if, by removing himself from the scene (and going through the stages of grief), he had allowed himself more room to breath, and he could at last go a respectable amount of time without having to worry about any unwanted bodily responses or a vacant expression painting his face. 

And if he spent the remaining nights hoping for a small glimpse of a familiar server, well, that was his own business.

The rest of the Schweiden Adler’s trip went smoothly, and Ushijima was proud to say that, despite the many annoyances of spending non-stop time with his (oftentimes immature) teammates, he had managed not to have a completely terrible time. Not a good time, per se, but not a bad time, either.

Still, Ushijima had to question some of the group’s decisions in regards to their holiday.

It was an odd choice, for sure. Not many professional volleyball players would be able to say that they had gone on a team road trip to the top of a snow-capped mountain. 

And yet… there they were. 

They were crammed in Heiwajima’s minivan, less than an hour away from the city, about to conclude what had been, so far, one of the most onerous events of Ushijima’s adult life. Kageyama was asleep on his shoulder, head lolling forward every so often — often enough that Ushijima had to continue pushing his younger teammate back, so as not to be choked by his seatbelt from pitching forward — and barely maintaining his saliva to the confines of his own face.

The road here was flat, smooth pavement, which made for a more comfortable drive, but the heavy traffic made it so it felt like they were inching forward at a snail’s pace.

Logically, he _knew_ they were moving quite a bit faster than a snail, but Ushijima was feeling especially impatient; he couldn’t wait to get back home to his apartment, his own bed, his window flowers, and clean clothes.

Certainly, there could be no greater joy in his day than saying goodbye to his teammates — to whom he _did_ have a significant emotional attachment, but whom he merely wished to be free of, if only for a few days.

It was not until those few days later that he finally made his way around to unpacking his things. Ushijima didn’t often couple himself with procrastination, but he had felt too weary upon walking through his back door to do much more than drop his duffle bag on the floor before wrestling with his unduly finicky shower taps in hopes of a bath.

But there is a certain, undeniable truth that the more time one spends putting something off, the more painfully difficult it becomes to begin the task. Ushijima was experiencing this truth with... much reluctance.

His things smelled like they had been left to sit as they were in a dank, confined space for several days. (Which they had been.)

It wasn’t exactly a pleasant task, but Ushijima was nothing if not responsible, and this was _his_ responsibility, so he powered through the tedium and began hanging his things up to air. Some other things went straight to the laundry hamper, too musty to consider re-wearing before a round through the wash.

Okay, it certainly wasn’t as bad as he had been picturing. He was almost done in, what, less than fifteen minutes? Only a few items laid scattered at the bottom of his duffle bag and he reached in to collect them in his arms.

He stopped.

His eyes widened, and he could feel them beetling out from his head.

At the very bottom of his belongings was something that was not his: a well-worn cloth, colourful fibres faded from age and edges frayed from use. It seemed similar to the vintage tenugui Ushijima’s mother kept on the kitchen wall, but this one looked much older and very well-loved. He brought it up to his face, hesitant until he caught a whiff of something off the cloth’s fabric.

_French fry juice,_ his brain supplied.

The intoxicating smell, so akin to the guilty pleasure food he had only ever experienced overseas, greasy and disgusting and delicious, yet he knew the taste it paired with was not as scrumptious. 

He pinched the flesh of his wrist between his thumb and index.

He could feel it, _obviously_ , and he could still smell the tenugui’s wonderful, inviting scent. He brought it back up to his face and huffed, drawing the fragrance into his lungs.

_It wasn’t a dream._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious, the prompts for days 1 and 5 of UshiTen Week 2020 are: _holidays | blind date | angels/demons AU_ , and _home | proposals | magic/fantasy AU_.

“Oh, let’s go in there!”

Ushijima didn’t often drink, even when the rest of his team was completely shit-faced and hanging off one another in some downtown street; he preferred to keep his senses about him.

“Whaaaa?” Hoshiumi gurgled. “That’s not ramen!”

‘That’ being the American-style diner to which Nicolas was enthusiastically pointing, as if he was a thirsty man in the desert and the restaurant was his oasis.

Not ramen, indeed. Yet, Ushijima felt intrigued by the quaint establishment. It’s lights flickered in the shape of English letters spelling out OPEN 24 HOURS, and the smells coming from the diner were so reminiscent of that time he could never forget, even if he wanted to.

“We aaaaalways get ramen!” Nicolas lamented, his Japanese much worse than usual, sentence sloppy and slurred.

“Nicolas is right,” Ushijima offered. “Why don’t we try something else for a change?” If his primary reason for siding with Nicolas was a tad selfish, no one had to know. He couldn’t help being curious.

A feeling akin to dread, or perhaps luck, crawled all the way up his legs to his scalp when he felt something stroke a short line down his back.

Even by rotating, he could not see the source of the feeling.

He smiled to himself, small and private, and led the group of inebriated players up to the diner — despite Hoshiumi’s relentless whining — to look closer. Through the diner’s windows he could see a few customers eating food, fries served in plastic baskets with red gingham paper and hamburgers on dinky plates. He wrapped his hand around the door handle and pulled gently, holding it open for his teammates to file inside the establishment, the shop bell ringing shrilly over the sound of smooth music.

A server popped her head out of the kitchen immediately to greet them. Her ashen hair was frazzled and she appeared knackered and footsore, as if she had been working for far too many hours with far too little compensation.

To settle Hoshiumi’s disgruntlement, everyone agreed that he could pick out their seats.

“My name is Aihara,” she said, and it was so reluctant and weary. “What can I get you today?” It was all too familiar, and yet not nearly familiar enough; too lackluster, too practiced, too incalculating. 

Everyone started talking at once and Ushijima could practically feel his soul stepping out of his body and walking out the door. He apologized to the waitress, who made no comment, and somehow managed to get everyone’s food ordered in a timely fashion. 

As they were waiting, he allowed himself to look around the diner — none too interested in what his teammates were drunkenly on about — and, to his disappointment, saw nothing out of the ordinary.

It was just an ordinary diner.

And yet, he had been _sure_ he’d felt... _something,_ whatever it was, touch his back.

When Aihara set their food down in front of them, the smell became all the more inviting, and Ushijima had to wipe a spot of drool from the corner of his mouth before plucking a fry from its nest.

It tasted like heaven.

Nicolas, Kageyama, and Hirugami all seemed to also be enjoying theirs and Hoshiumi — their other teammates had been otherwise engaged that evening — was putting on a show of reluctance, poor performance though it was.

Before they knew it, several of them were ordering seconds — much to Aihara’s dismay, Ushijima was sure — and several of them were getting up to relieve themselves in the diner restrooms. 

Ushijima did not feel the need, but the chatter and fluorescent lights were giving him a tense head, so he excused himself for some fresh air.

The outside air hit his face with more force than he was expecting, slapping his face with warm wind before melting into a whispering breeze, caressing his skin and touching him everywhere, winding between his fingers the same way it wound around pedestrians moving down the street. There were many of them, despite the late hour. They weren’t loud by any means, especially if he were to compare them to the environment indoors the diner, but the chatter was audible, and he welcomed it as a shield against the unsettling silence of night. 

Flashing lights in purples and greens spilled across the sidewalks, saturating the landscape with flickering neon hues and casting the stars away in favour of eerie fluorescent glows close to earth and concrete. 

Ushijima sighed, idly fiddling with his own fingers, before turning to make his way back inside.

Now, Ushijima was not the most imaginative person, nor had he ever been, but he could have _sworn_ that he heard someone calling his name.

He froze in place, ears ringing with anticipation and a tingling feeling dancing across his scalp.

_You’re being ridiculous_ , he silently admonished himself. _Just because you’re at a diner!_

“Wakatoshi!”

There it was again!

He looked down the street, eyes chasing the sound of his name. 

A claw brushed his shoulder and he twisted abruptly, startled, coming face-to-face with a tall, gaunt man with monkeyish posture. His hair, too heavy to be disturbed by the breeze, was coated in blood — more than Ushijima remembered — and covered his face save for a small gap through which a wide eye and the curl of a lip were visible. His aura was so still, as if the wind around him was being dragged down to his feet and swallowed by the ground on which he walked. 

Tendou smiled, his visible expression pleasantly acquisitive. “Hi!” He moved his hand down to rest over Ushijima’s chest, digits fingering the collar of his t-shirt.

Ushijima couldn’t help the way his heart walloped under the yōkai’s touch, somehow suffocating despite its lightness. “Hello,” he replied, and it came out sounding much more affected than he would have preferred. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Tendou said, looking down bashfully. 

Although Tendou had a monstrous and towering presence, now that he was acting so shyly, Ushijima could see that the man was shorter than he had initially perceived — several centimeters shorter than Ushijima, certainly. 

“How did you find me here?” Ushijima inquired.

“Just a lucky guess,” Tendou cocked his head to the side, and his hair fell with the movement, revealing more of his figure beneath. He no longer wore the waitress uniform from their last encounter, but a lilac-striped yukata — tied so carelessly that Ushijima thought his mother would have a heart attack if she were to witness it. “I didn’t interrupt an important evening, did I?”

“Not at all,” Ushijima replied, chest tight with conflicting desire. “But I am out with my friends at the moment.”

Tendou’s gaze flickered upward again, deft fingers prowling across the expanse of soft cotton stretching over Ushijima’s chest. “Perhaps you could retire a little early?”

Ushijima chuckled nervously. “I would like to,” he said. “But I don’t know… I would have to check with my friends.”

“Check away,” Tendou drew his hands away and Ushijima felt as if he could finally breathe clean air. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

Ushijima’s teammates didn’t seem to mind his premature departure, only Kageyama — who wasn’t soused like the others, but just tipsy enough to smile with rosy cheeks — shot him a mildly puzzled look, and by the looks of things, they’d all sobered up enough for Ushijima to feel confident in their abilities to make it home safely on their own.

“That was quick,” Tendou said, flashing a smile from beneath his matted hair. “Where shall we go?”

“We could…” Ushijima swallowed. “I could show you my apartment, if you like. I have tea.”

“Sure!” Tendou’s willowy limbs began moving in strides that Ushijima couldn’t decide looked graceful or awkward. “Lead the way, Wakatoshi!”

_Haunting_ , Ushijima thought. Yes, that was an appropriate description of the way Tendou moved.

Upon hearing ‘lead the way,’ Ushijima had assumed he would be walking in _front_ of the yōkai, but Tendou remained always just a few increments ahead, not out of Ushijima’s orbit, but enough steps further that it _felt_ like he was just beyond reach, taunting him.

Ushijima hadn’t realized before, but Tendou was a chatterbox. Words tumbled from his tongue and, although Ushijima had little idea what the yōkai was talking about, he was enthralled. He felt sure, if given the chance, he would gladly listen to Tendou’s prattling for hours. 

Out of his element — the diner — Tendou was much less terrifying. He seemed… almost normal, but not quite; adorable and intimidating in a charming way.

“We’re almost there,” Ushijima murmured, as they neared his building.

Tendou apparently didn’t need any further direction. As soon as they were close enough to see the peeling paint of the building’s North side, he steered himself toward the right door, throwing a look of wonderful excitement over his jutting shoulder.

“Behold the marvellous Tendou!” he vaunted. “Guess _monster!_ I got it right, didn’t I?”

“How did you know?” Ushijima asked.

Tendou shrugged, movement disturbing the hair around his shoulders. “This door just feels like Wakatoshi. I _told_ you I’m good at guessing.” 

“You did,” Ushijima agreed, unlocking the door which led to his kitchen. “And I never doubted you, but I must say I’m still impressed.”

Tendou looked robustly pleased, grin splitting his face like the red sea. 

“Welcome to my apartment,” Ushijima said, coughing to hide his blush at the meagre ménage; it was just him and his flowers occupying a run-down apartment, although he knew he could afford more if he cared enough.

He had never cared until now, nervous of Tendou’s scrutinizing eye.

“It’s so homey,” Tendou cooed, not unkindly, his fingers ghosting across every surface they came across, thankfully not smudging any blood. 

_Hm_. _The blood might be a problem._

Tendou seemed to be fascinated by even the smallest things; a contagious curiosity and wonderment at the most minute details of seemingly everyday objects, things so _ordinary_ that Ushijima rarely considered their existence, coloured his interaction with the space.

It occurred to Ushijima that Tendou likely was not accustomed to the conveniences of modern-day urban living, so he took care not to rush any explanations, simple though they were, and the bubbling of water on the stovetop buffered the silence between bouts of conversation.

However, almost as soon as the tea was poured into dainty cups, it was forgotten. In his head, left instead were sensations of lingering glances laid across Ushijima’s skin. He could feel it — Tendou’s single visible eye — grazing him. The way Tendou’s lashes smacked, just as awkwardly as they had the last time he’d tried flirtatious batting, and the wicked grin of satisfaction he wore as he must have realized Ushijima could sense the unholiness in his intentions, it all caused quite a stir in the human’s belly. It churned, unsteady as the ocean, twisting in snaily spirals, an overall unpleasant experience. 

“Wa-ka-to- _shi_ ,” Tendou enunciated every syllable of his name with that clever tongue. “You’re so kind for inviting me into your home.”

_Dangerous._ The word immediately came to the forefront of Ushijima’s thoughts. “Thank you,” he said. 

Darting out, Tendou’s tongue swiped across his lip. “May I ask something of such a kindly man?”

In a burst of nervous energy, Ushijima remembered his tea and hurried to bring the cup to his lips, as if it might hide the fluster on his face. “Of course,” he spoke into the cup. 

“Will you marry me?”

“Um,” If Ushijima were a more expressive man, he would have laughed. As it was, his mouth scrunched to parallel the furrow of his forehead and he sipped slowly in thought. “We’ve only just met.”

“Not just,” the yōkai contended. 

“I cannot marry you.”

“Why not? Don’t you like me?” 

“As I said, we have only just met, Tendou-san.” Ushijima hadn’t thought it possible for the yōkai to become more gruesome or beautiful, yet the unexpectedly deep sorrow gracing his features was proving that to be untrue. “Mere attraction... is not grounds for — for _marriage_.”

Tendou slumped. “I really thought we had something going here, Wakatoshi.”

“W-we do!” Ushijima set down his tea so suddenly that the cup clattered when it met the counter. Make no mistake; Ushijima was thoroughly taken with the being before him, but surely…. Well, hadn’t they missed more than a few important steps? Ushijima said as much, expressing his concerns gently so as not to further dishearten his guest. 

“I see,” Tendou said sadly. “Then I will just have to convince you that I’m worth marrying.”

It seemed that a clear rejection would not sway Tendou’s dalliance, for perhaps almost as starkly as he had proposed, he resumed his previous demeanor; effulgently coy and a little crass, purposely and shamelessly seductive. And Ushijima ate it up, as it were — Because what else was he to do but reciprocate to the best of his awkward ability? — allowing Tendou closer and closer throughout the night until he was all but tangled in the yōkai’s hair. It was all he could do to keep his composure, lest he become completely useless in his silly admiration.

Ushijima didn’t remember falling to sleep, but when he blinked open his eyes he could tell it was morning. He awoke with the thrill still thrumming, of the knowledge that he had indulged in pure hedonism by allowing himself to sit alongside a fantasy. Even more satisfying was the strain in his trousers, reminding him of his chasteness. They had not even kissed.

Next to his thumb, a large smear of blood stained the couch where they had settled in the early morning. He took a moment to let himself be mortified by the red spotting his cushions and clothes before standing up to stretch.

Even more alarming than the blood on his couch was the wet patch absorbed by his sock upon standing.

Ushijima looked down to the puddle by his foot; just water, but it trickled all the way from… the bathroom. And Ushijima was, all of a sudden, aware of the sound of running water coming from that very room, blocked by its closed door. Dismayed, Ushijima padded toward the bathroom, mindful of his soggy sock, and grasped the knob in his hand before slowly twisting to open the door.

Tendou was beaming, his spider-like limbs bent awkwardly to accommodate for his height versus the small bathtub, pink water sloshing with his graceless movements.

Ushijima found himself flushed, either from the water spilling onto the floor, or perhaps the barely concealed nude before him. 

“I can’t turn off the water,” Tendou said, and Ushijima knew he was telling the truth. The taps had always been problematic.

“There’s a trick to it,” Ushijima sighed heavily. The mere wet patch on his sock now seemed of little matter, as he waded through the shallow overflow to assist in turning the taps. 

He recalled, briefly, an earlier thought that engaging so heedlessly with a yōkai would be a disaster. 

“Thank you,” Tendou seemed unashamed, neither of the mess, nor of the fact that he was buck-naked in another man’s tub with no previous explanation given to its owner.

“Don’t mind,” Ushijima said. “It’s no trouble,” he said, knowing that it _was_ trouble. 

“I’m afraid I made quite a mess of your living quarters, Wakatoshi. I hoped to clean up before you woke, but it seems you’re an early riser.”

“I am,” Ushijima agreed.

“You do seem the type,” Tendou murmured, still smiling. “Care to join me?”

“No, thank you,” Ushijima knew his tone was terse, but he couldn’t do much else to hide his embarrassment.

It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d been in the presence of a bare man — far from it — but this was, somehow, much different than either the casual nudity of professional athletes, or the powerful and carnal nakedness of old rivals turned to lovers. This was so much more palpable and _new_. And Ushijima knew, if only Tendou had more room to stretch, the yōkai’s form would be even more titillating, unrestrained by the confining basin.

He looked… _immensely_ out-of-place.

“You don’t need to be so austere, Wakatoshi.”

“I’m not trying to be,” Ushijima replied. It felt clumsy on his tongue. “But… perhaps I could help?” Never in his life had Ushijima felt so utterly _unclean_ as when he breathed those words. 

Tendou just hummed as Ushijima took his place on the stool. His visible eye rolled to gaze intently up at his host. The sound of rippling water echoed, and as if the world was slowed to a still, neither of them breathed for a whole moment, trapped in a snapshot of time. 

Ushijima’s fingers quivered as they reached out to brush locks cast over the slope of Tendou’s shoulder peeking out from damp red hair, the ends of which churned around his knees in the water. Ushijima let his fingers guide him, but found that they had no more idea of how to proceed than his head. This, while unsurprising, was still disappointing to Ushijima.

Nothing — not even the most vivid fantasy, which he had indulged in more times than he would prefer to admit even to himself — could have prepared him for the besotted stupor he was in. For, upon even touching such a horrid, yet magnificent creature, Ushijima’s heart felt as if it had short-circuited, and he had very little idea of what that meant, let alone why it was happening to him.

“Wakatoshi,” Tendou said, and _oh_ , what a lovely sound it was. “Are you sure you wouldn’t join me?” 

“I don’t think there’s room.”

Indeed, as Tendou tilted his chin down into the rose-tinted bathwater, Ushijima could see the realization on his face. And yet, he kept glancing back up with a small, elfish smile, as if eager to entertain the thought that Ushijima would suddenly change his mind.

Ushijima felt his mouth softening at the sound of Tendou’s lips trilling and the sight of the bubbles he created. It was hard to believe that he had ever felt threatened by Tendou. 

Tendou lifted his head, rather suddenly, and his lips formed a small ‘o’ in apology when Ushijima moved to grab the ewer for pouring and his fingers came away sticky. “I’m sorry, I’ve always been a messy eater.”

Well, perhaps it was _not_ so difficult after all, to feel threatened by a creature who unabashedly admitted to feasting on humans. “I’m not sure what you mean,” Ushijima lied, putting such thoughts out of his head.

But Tendou seemed to know, beady pupil staring into the man’s gentle soul.

Ushijima scooped with the ewer. “Tip your head back, please,” he instructed softly.

Tendou did so, and when Ushijima poured pink water over his sticky head, the hair parted to show his full face, gleaming up at Ushijima with two _wide_ eyes, thick lids and lashes, pinched cheeks, and… his mouth, which seemed far too _kissable_ , Ushijima thought, given the implications of such an act.

And despite the apparent danger of housing a man-eating seducer, Ushijima breathed in the scent of iron and 24-hour diners, and breathed out a phrase he hoped the yōkai had heard enough times for it to be meaningless, for he deserved it. “You’re beautiful.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” he purred, close enough that Ushijima’s neck was warmed by breath, and he had the peculiar idea that Tendou was embarrassed by the compliment.

“How could I not?”

When Tendou stepped out of the tub, Ushijima averted his eyes — perhaps out of respect, or perhaps out of self-preservation. As it turned out, Tendou was even more alluring with squeaky clean hair and a bare face.

The yōkai wrung his mane through his hands, drawing out a stream of excess water, and wrapped it around his shoulders like a scarf, too long to be held up in a towel. They used every one of Ushijima's limited supply to sop up the floor’s mess.

Tendou slipped the purple yukata over his shoulders and wrapped it around himself as if it were a bathrobe, tucked under his armpits instead of tied neatly around his hips — his obi somehow lost, “misplaced” as Tendou so unconcernedly put it.

He looked far too human, and yet not human at all. It was uncanny to see him in such a domestic light. No longer done up in his diner dress, he was, in the morning’s first light, charming, but not in the filthy manner of night. His charm now was more innocent — although innocent was not quite the way to put it, Ushijima thought — and far more tangible than Ushijima was comfortable with.

There had been something very _surreal_ about Tendou before; a chance, dream-like encounterance. But Tendou was very, _very_ real. 

As Ushijima spot-treated the couch and explained the wonders of baking soda — Ushijima was a firm believer that baking soda could fix almost anything, and utilized its powers even more frequently than his own mother — Tendou watched avidly; he hovered as Ushijima showed him how he liked to cook his breakfast, and he listened aptly to every detail that came from Ushijima’s lips.

Tendou didn’t seem to be a fan of _any_ of the options served for breakfast, yet he tried each with zeal, which was absolutely unnecessary, but appreciated all the same.

Ushijima was not the most comfortable conversationalist — nor had he ever been — but interacting with Tendou was not like interacting with anyone else. There was an ease to it that was unfamiliar; Tendou was easier to talk to than even his closest friends and teammates, or even his mother. He recalled how long it had taken him to build his friendship with Kageyama. It took so long not because they were incompatible, but because both were incredibly similar, their prowess lying in volleyball rather than school or, more importantly, friends. 

As far as Ushijima knew, Tendou didn’t know much about volleyball, so it was even more surprising how smoothly their conversations went. When it came time for Tendou to leave, Ushijima was disappointed, and not because of any longing for physicality, but because he didn’t want Tendou’s talking to end.

They parted ways for the second time without so much as a kiss, but a marriage proposal and rejection under their belts, and a promise to meet again sooner rather than later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my lovely beta-reader,  
> [irleggsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irleggsy/pseuds/irleggsy), who I could not have done this without. They are truly a blessingヽ(o♡o)/ Please check out their writing [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irleggsy/pseuds/irleggsy/works) or on [Tumblr](irleggsywrites.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, feel free to leave kudos and a comment to let me know what you liked best ღ╹◡╹)ノ♡


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps it was because he was uneasy, or perhaps it was because the man was already occupying a great deal of his mind; either way, Ushijima found himself wondering — _wishing_ — that he might, quite literally, run into Tendou, a part of him holding onto that small hope that he had merely forgotten about their date.

He ran a hand over the table nearest him. Once-shiny metal had lost its lustre, but the surface was still smooth beneath his fingers, in surprisingly good condition considering how old the diner must have been.

The eerie gloaming light filtered through the windows and cast shadows across the diner’s red. It was always like this, in dreams; slightly different from reality, things even more out-of-place than he remembered, his memory twisted with each night he fell into visions.

He awoke to the sound of air and rolled out of bed into an empty apartment. It was always like this, in the morning; just as he had left it, lonely except for his window flowers and the _drip, drip, drip_ of his unduly finicky taps.

Often, lately, he would have _vivid_ dreams about that night, usually without the presence of Tendou. The dreams were lonely, and that scared him more than the actual experience of being a patron of the diner had.

“I’m going for a run,” he murmured, to no one in particular. After all, no one was there to listen.

The ground outside was cold, cracked, and grey. Buildings stretched into the sky, inorganic and impossibly tall. Windows were black and yellow squares against the endless cityscape.

His path was consistent, never twisting, remaining straight with harsh turns. This was good, he thought; no way for him to get lost in the beauty, for there was nothing beautiful here except weeds and peeling paint around the residential block.

Some might have felt frightened in the pre-dawn shadows of the early morning, but Ushijima felt completely serene, glad to have some time in his head. And how could he feel frightened when he was running? It was one of his favourite things, and he wasn’t embarrassed to admit that he found it almost addictive at times.

The ground wasn’t kind here, in the city; unforgiving in a way that he was used to. The _thwack_ of his sneakers on the pavement wasn’t as satisfying as the soft _thud_ when he ran on dirt and soiled snow. 

Ushijima didn’t really mind. Running was running. It was routine.

He got caught up in the rhythm — _thwack, thwack, thwack_ — and he began to breathe in sync with the sound of his footsteps — _puff, puff, puff_. 

In that moment, he felt that nothing could be better than this. It was routine.

Ushijima was a man of routine. 

So when he returned to his home at six o’clock, he wasn’t exactly _pleased_ to find that something was not quite right. Had you asked him, he would not be able to articulate what wasn’t right, nor would he be able to definitively say that something was _wrong_ , merely that the atmosphere felt... rather odd, let’s say.

Never one to linger, Ushijima returned to his business — eating a nutritious breakfast, brushing his teeth, and packing his bag — and set off for the gym.

This was another part of his routine; usually, he would train at the gym until lunch, when he would step away for a bite to eat. _Usually,_ that meant meeting up with a certain yōkai for an hour or two as he ate, and perhaps a stealthy embrace.

Despite the lonely dreams and quiet mornings, Ushijima’s life was as vibrant as ever, in no small thanks to Tendou himself. 

Tendou was now a regular part of Ushijima’s routine, too.

Over many months of — what Ushijima assumed was, but had never quite said aloud to be — courtship, several truths had come to light. The first was that Tendou was surely meant for this time; he enjoyed anime and karaoke and all the comforts of the modern world. The second was that what Ushijima had first perceived as perilous had quickly proven itself to be nearly empty threats; while Tendou was, indeed, a creature capable of doing great harm, he was no more likely to bite than a domesticated cat.

Well… perhaps that was a stretch. Tendou _did_ do his fair share of biting, as Ushijima had discovered upon finally kissing the target of his affections. But that was just Tendou, and that was fine with Ushijima. For as surely as he used his teeth, he also pressed soft, sweet lips to lips, kissing with the careful hesitance of a monster unaccustomed to loverly activities, still gentle and overly considerate despite their now two years of practice.

He must have often thought he was consorting with the wrong man, but Ushijima was ever so glad they had come this far. And despite the yōkai’s strangeness, their relationship — while ambiguous, especially to outsiders — was met with enthusiasm from Ushijima’s friends. As were the employee discounts he shared with them whenever they deigned to visit during his late-night shifts at the diner he was currently employed at; the same diner they had visited on that Friday night due to Nicolas’ drunken insistence.

Ushijima had yet to inform his _mother_ of his… blossoming love. No doubt, she would question her son’s taste in men.

But those thoughts could wait, as Ushijima’s eyes homed in on the ball, mere seconds before the flat of his palm connected, creating that satisfying _smack_ and throttling it over the net.

It went out.

“Was that too high, Wakatoshi-san?”

“No, I just…” he trailed off, frustrated.

Kageyama’s toss was, as always, nothing short of perfect. 

“Off your game?” Kageyama asked, the point between his eyebrows crinkling. 

Ushijima grunted, not quite sure of how else to respond, not quite sure of what was wrong with him today. That hadn’t been his first poor spike. He resigned himself to the fact that, surely, that _thing_ , whatever it was, was just _not right_. It was as if he was... _anticipating_ something, but he knew not of anything unusual to anticipate in the first place. Perhaps his lunch date with Tendou would solve the issue.

But Tendou never showed. That was more concerning than any odd feeling he’d had throughout the morning. 

Ushijima grit his teeth, molars grinding as worry gnawed at his spine.

If he thought his performance was poor _earlier,_ Ushijima wasn’t sure what to call it now. The upside, he supposed, was that his suffering was cut short when Hirugami sent him home early for the day.

Ushijima was, in a sense, glad to be sent away, but he was no less uneasy than he had been back at the gym. He ran, because that was routine.

_Twack, thwack, thwack._

Generally speaking, Ushijima was not the most imaginative person, but he couldn’t help but imagine all the horrible things that could have happened to his… partner. 

Yes, _partner_ was a good word to describe him.

_Thwack, thwack, thwack._

Perhaps it was because he was uneasy, or perhaps it was because the man was already occupying a great deal of his mind; either way, Ushijima found himself wondering — _wishing_ — that he might, quite literally, run into Tendou, a part of him holding onto that small hope that he had merely forgotten about their date.

He pictured Tendou, in the sweater he had “borrowed,” which made his gangliness seem so much more human, jogging to catch up, to apologize for his forgetfulness. His fingers pulling through strands of hair in a fretful show as he burbled the sincerest of sorries and dulcet retributions. 

_Twack, thwack, thwack._

But Tendou would never forget. Lunch dates were _routine_.

Ushijima was not appeased by his daydream; he became increasingly worried the longer he lingered on thoughts of Tendou.

He panted with each shock sent through his body, thoughts half-caught between the harsh _thwack_ on hard ground and a terrible fantasy, until he became _convinced_ that the worst had occurred.

He attempted to _force_ himself to think of other things, but by the time he slowed to a stop outside his apartment he had not been successful. The same unpleasant feeling of _not-quite-rightness_ was present as he unlocked the door and stepped into his kitchen. 

He bathed himself, he boiled water for tea, and he paced around the apartment until he became dizzy.

He felt decidedly agitated. 

Maybe Tendou had given up on trying to convince Ushijima to marry him, and maybe he had returned to the mountain to work at the diner. Maybe he was flirting with yōkai customers, who were far less hesitant to sleep with him, and far more suited to him.

After all, hadn’t Ushijima rejected Tendou’s marriage proposals enough times for Tendou to tire of his reasons?

Was this... the _end?_

_You’re being ridiculous,_ he told himself. And surely, asking such questions was futile, for no one was there to answer him.

It was only as he began the last step in his daily routine, preparing to sleep, that he noticed something _very_ important.

A parcel sat atop his pillow. It was wrapped in brown paper, tied with red string, and it looked extremely lumpy. With trembling fingers, indilatory, Ushijima fumbled with the string in his haste to open the package.

It was full of hair. More specifically, _Tendou_ ’s hair — and Ushijima could tell; not only by the match in colour, but by the length and volume and, indeed, even by the smell.

_French fry juice,_ his brain supplied. 

The hair, which he had become so accustomed to seeing, was clean of any hazards, dark and red-tinted with a pretty lustre and ragged ends. It tangled and twined round and round like a nest in his hands, and perhaps if he was a different man he would be disgusted. 

But he was not a different man. And he was not disgusted. He was… well, he was quite possibly in love.

Oh. _Oh._

It was an odd choice, for sure. Not many people would be able to say that they had run to a 24-hour diner at eight o’clock in their pyjamas, barefoot.

And yet… there he was. 

He probably should have reconsidered his hasty actions, but it was too late for that now; he was currently about a block away from the diner, feet raw from concrete and chest tight from sprinting. He had never felt so irresponsible in his life.

Ushijima couldn’t say that he particularly enjoyed this feeling, exhilarating though it was. Because if he knew anything about Tendou, it was that he was likely beside himself with angst.

As _many_ times as Tendou had proposed, he had never shown such a grand, yet subtle, gesture. It wasn’t flashy, but it was something that Ushijima knew to be significant, more than he would likely ever be able to understand. To cut off his hair, and to gift it to someone, was a sacrifice of devotion, reserved for the most smitten and committed. 

Ushijima yanked the glass door open and stood just inside, chest heaving with exertion, lungs pulling in the scent of the diner; that scent which was downright ambrosial, of food that was greasy and disgusting and delicious. The smell of _Tendou_.

“I’m here,” Ushijima rasped.

Aihara eyed him (and his lacking attire) warily, but said nothing.

Ushijima almost didn’t recognize the yōkai without his hair, but when they made eye contact, Tendou stood abruptly, wringing his hands raw — out of nervousness, Ushijima was sure. His eyes bulged like gumballs, and his teeth dug into his lip.

“Wakatoshi,” Tendou replied, and for a moment, Ushijima forgot why he was there, too caught up in the sound of his name on his lover’s tongue. 

Ushijima strode forward and twined long, bony fingers with his own. “I love you,” he said simply, for the first time.

He should have said it sooner — for Ushijima had been whipped the moment he first laid eyes on the man — but it seemed that Tendou didn’t much care how long it had taken; his teeth released his lower lip and his mouth stretched into an impossibly wide grin, splitting his face like he might just take a bite out of the lucky volleyball player before him. To anyone else, it would have seemed predatory, but Ushijima saw it for what it was: joyous relief.

Ushijima was, too, relieved. But he frowned softly. “I was very worried.”

Tendou merely shrugged, his shoulders, for once, disturbing nothing but the air around him. He leaned forward until their foreheads were brushing, the breath from his nose tickling Ushijima’s face. “Do you accept?”

Somehow, Ushijima knew that Tendou wasn’t asking for acceptance of a marriage proposal, or his _hair_ , but of the yōkai himself. 

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading all the way to the end! I had so much fun writing and revising this story - with help from the incredible [irleggsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irleggsy/profile), of course - so I really hope you enjoyed o(^-^)o
> 
> I know I've shouted them out already, but I just gotta do it again; _huge_ thanks to [irleggsy](irleggsywrites.tumblr.com/) for keeping my overuse of commas in check and for their input on this piece. Their patience and support was, and is, very greatly appreciated. I highly recommend checking out their writing!
> 
> If you feel like it, please leave a comment on your way out! Comments make my day a million times better ヽ(o♡o)/

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Chapter 2 will be posted later this week :)
> 
> A world of thanks to the wonderful [irleggsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irleggsy/pseuds/irleggsy) for their endless support and patience (and for being super rad in general)! They're not just an incredible beta, but an incredible writer, so please check out their work [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irleggsy/pseuds/irleggsy/works) or on [Tumblr](https://irleggsywrites.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Comments and kudos are very, very appreciated ヽ(o♡o)/


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